


Sam Vimes Pyjama's

by Beastie



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Married Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastie/pseuds/Beastie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This has very little to do with Pyjamas. It started off as a little fluffy thing for fun and it kept getting longer. Anyway my favourite OTP. Comments are welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Vimes Pyjama's

Vimes felt useless which made him angry, but there was no way of venting that anger constructively, which made me feel useless and the circle continued like that the entire walk home. He wondered up Scoone Ave grumbling about the earliness of the hour as the midnight bells peeled though the city. The watch was getting bigger, the bigger it got the more there was to do but less he felt needed. He reached Sybil's home, his home he corrected himself. After three weeks of marriage, he still didn't think the estate or anything Sybil had shared with him as his. In the hallway, he was greeted by Willikins.  
"It is good to see you home early," Willikins remarked taking Vimes's helmet. Vimes mumbled a dismissal and headed upstairs.  
His pyjamas were folded neatly on the bed he glared at them disgustedly. In bed before midnight, it wasn't decent. He unbuckled his breastplate and peeled off his chainmail. The heat in Ank-Morpork tonight was stifling, a sticky humidity rose from the Ank and clung to the skin like a light placenta on a newborn. Heat like this slowed everything down, even the most determined of criminals stayed inside on nights like this.

Leaving his armour on the floor Vimes padded into the bathroom to wash away the grime of the day. The bathroom connected to both Vimes's and Sybil's bedrooms the door to Sybil's was open, Vimes could hear her singing. He washed quickly in cold water and followed Sybil's voice. There was a small dressing room between Sybil's room and the bathroom it was dark, apart from a beam of light from the door crack. Vimes stopped in the light spying on Sybil simply being herself. He brushed against something soft that made him jump. It was one of Sybil's dresses, a sensible cotton dress with embroidered flowers on the bodice, but it smelt like her perfume and dragons. In that moment Vimes realised that they stilled stayed in separate bedrooms just like they had before the wedding. After what happened on their wedding day the night had been lost. Then time passed apparently without him then dumped him on the wrong side of a month. No honeymoon to speak of, not even a weekend in Quirm, to see the flower clock. Their schedules were so different. He would get to bed just as the sun started to rise and she would be up first thing to feed the dragons, they crossed paths at breakfast/supper then not see each other until the next day. That worked for Colon and his wife they dedicated years of happy marriage to it, but if worked for Vimes was yet to be decided. If it worked for Sybil he didn't know, the problem was if it didn't she would never complain. Sybil was sitting at her dressing table wearing a light but sensible peach coloured nightgown. Doing those little things women do before bed, removing makeup, brushing hair, putting on three different face creams, negotiating peace treaties, re-painting the bathroom etc. She was finishing rubbing the last piece of moisturiser into her rosy cheeks when Vimes stepped behind her.  
"You're home early Sam," She smiled at him through the mirror.  
"Yeah," Vimes scoffed. Sybil gave him another smile one that made her nose wrinkle in a lovable way and started to rub moisturiser into her elbow. If Vimes was a romantic man he would have scooped Sybil up and kiss her nose and cheeks which he loved so much, but he was not a romantic man and lacked the upper body strength. Instead he sat down on the bed and started complaining about not being needed at the station.  
"Of course, they need you, Sam. They just need you alive and if you keep up your current pace you won't be much longer. A night off and a long sleep will do you a world of good," Sybil answered briskly as she continued her nightly preparations. Vimes smiled from his reclining position on the bed. What was the song Sybil was singing?  
"Grass stains and whisky bottles, Nelly tell me where you've been." He sang under his breath.  
"The boys have their stories I'd like one too. Please dance with me Nelly, tell me what you've seen. Dance with me Nelly, My Nelly Dean" Sybil joined in, smiling at him in the mirror, suddenly her smile dropped. The last thing for her to do in her nightly routine was removing the wig; the problem was Vimes had never seen her without one. He knew she wore one but she hesitated.  
"Are you going to bed Sam?" She enquired trying to indicate subtly she wanted him to leave. Vimes decided to ignore the hint and shrugged.  
"Not right now." He laughed. Sybil glared at him and reached a decision. Boldly she pulled off the wig and placed it on its stand. Vimes stared at the back of her neck and was pleased to see she was blushing as she brushed out the little hair she had. Her hair was the same brown that Vimes liked his coffee, but was speckled with grey. Slowly he stood up. If he was a passonate man he would have pulled off the peach nightgown and nuzzle his face into her neck. He wasn't, so he patted her on the shoulder. Then with only slight hesitation, he kissed the top of her head. Sybil swivelled in her seat and looked up at him, her hazel eyes met with his muddy brown ones. In possibly the most romantic move in his life so far, Vimes leant down and gently kissed his wife. When Vimes reluctantly pulled back Sybil was blushing vividly. Vimes brushed her cheek gently.  
"We could…" he faltered of and indicated vaguely towards the bed.  
"I don't know Sam," Sybil mumbled. It was moments like this Vimes remembered how soft she could be. The self-assured Sybil who was made of iron, who had once told a dragon bigger than this mansion to "Sit!" Was looking up at him with her big, worried eyes chewing on her thumb nervously, unsure what to do.  
"Could we just hold each other for a while?" She asked. Vimes nodded, he stripled off his britches and shirt leaving his boxets on and slipped between the sheets. The bed he had been sleeping in, like most of the furniture in the mansion, was old but well made and underused, it sprang back to shape when Vimes got up and reluctantly yielded to his weight when he sat down. Sybil's bed had been her bed for years, it understood its owner's needs, so as Vimes lay back he fell into a Sybil shaped groove which engulfed him and held him in place, just like Sybil herself. Sybil was fussing, she had blown out all the candles in the room carrying the last one round the bed and placing it on the bedside table before she slid under the sheets next to Vimes. Vimes pulled himself out of the groove and closer to his wife who let him wrap his arm around her. Sybil rested her head on Vimes's shoulder, her forehead grazed the stubble on his chin which tickled her slightly, she laughed.

Vimes let out a deep breath the weight of Sybil's arm pressing down on his chest felt safe, slowly he ran his fingers up and down it making Sybil shudder slightly. In the silent moments that followed, Vimes reflected on his past. The adolescent fumblings, the ex-lovers he could count on the hand of a blind butcher, the rare times he had enough for an awkward trip to Ms Plams boarding house, Mavis Trouncer. Then all that was Vimes was taken by the Bunch of grapes, the Broken/Mended drum, Bearhuggers, the Bucket and the Watch. He had missed holding curves that weren't glass and he hadn't realised it until now caressing his wife's warm skin. How all that lead up to him laying on a bed worth more than his previous flat with a wife he didn't deserve he still couldn't figure out. He moved the hand that had been cradling her up her back and played with the small curls on the nape of her neck.

Sybil giggled under her breath, Vimes's touch made her stomach tingle pleasantly. Sybil had not wanted to be a wife as a girl. There were offers, some left her lukewarm, others disgusted her but most of them stank of gold-digging. If that was her own paranoia she didn't know but she turned down all offers to be safe. Not that Daddy ever approved of any of them either. Would he have approved of Sam? No, but even though he was a strong-minded man even he could not disapprove from beyond the grave. Then as she neared forty, fully settled in her life dedicated to dragons, she looked back and saw a life she had enjoyed at the time but was no fun to reminisce about and a lonely one. So Sybil did what she always did, she continued on with a smile and determination, even if that smile was fake. Then suddenly her routine had been shaken up, just before the Nobel Dragon burned its way through Ank-Morpork, this dashing Captian arrived at her door with his granite face. He was rough and gentle, smelt of booze but he made her smile and eventually he smiled back. The smile turned into a contract if he agreed to marry her he would become richer than kreasote and she would not die alone. Sybil had never seen herself as a sexual creature. Being big, quite and shy growing up meant sex was something that happened to other people, she didn't have to worry about things like that. The closest to sex education she had gotten was the frescos on the bathroom walls at Crundells hall and the only advice she received was, "You'll figure it out when you get married." Well, she was married now, sex was part of the contract. Also "Of course, there's still time." Was a phrase being fired at both Vimes and Sybil recently, people expected something of them.

Regaining some of that boldness which had drawn Vimes to her in the first place Sybil sat up and kissed her Husband. Vimes returned the kiss running his hands down her back and cupping her arse. He pulled her towards him so that her breasts pressed against his chest. This kiss continued as Sybil moved to straddled him, sitting gently on his lap, his face cupped tenderly in her soft hands. Vimes bit gently on her lip and squeezed her pliable arse harder which made Sybil squeak loudly. She started to laugh, overwhelmed by her own awkwardness. Vimes manoeuvred them so Sybil's head rested on the pillow and he could look down at her. Sybil was still laughing she hid her blushing face behind her hands as if looking at him was too much. Vimes couldn't help but notice the way her giggling made Sybil's chest tremble. He bent his head down and kissed her chest making his way across her collarbone then down into her cleavage. Sybil stopped laughing, his breath on her skin tingled and his hands were pushing up her nightdress.  
"Sam." She hissed placing her hands on his. Vimes smiled at her reassuringly, Sybil smiled back a little nervously but nodded. Vimes leant over and blew out the candle. In the darkness, he felt Sybil relax beneath him. She ran her hands up his arms and over his chest, through his hair, pulling him towards her. Vimes had always thought of sex in the same way he thought of food, fancy meals and ingredients were fine for other people. Vimes was always happy with egg and chips but tonight he was willing to try the fried tomato. Vimes disappeared under the covers. Sybil left alone in the dark held her breath and waited. She felt his breath on the inside of her thigh, his hand ghosted along her legs. His lips touched her sensitive skin on her upper thigh, his five o'clock shadow itched slightly. Vimes kissed her inside thigh. Sybil's breath caught in her throat as his tongue played up her cunt making circles as it did. She released a small cry as his nose brushed against her clit. Taking this as a good sign Vimes started to circle her clit gently, changing the strokes from long rhythmic laps to little fast ones, until he felt her twitch. Sybil cried out, clutching at the pillow.  
"Fuck," she gasped arching her back as she tipped over the edge. The warmth of Vime's lips left her crotch and he reappeared above the covers smiling at her in surprised. He didn't think he'd heard Sybil swear before, nothing worst then "Bloody hell" and on one occasion, "Bugger". Sybil's voice was so sharp and strong it could cut glass, she didn't need to swear to be heard.  
"I thought proper ladies didn't say that." Vimes joked running his hand soothingly over Sybil's stomach. Sybil smiled at him.  
"It's a good word in the right situations," She whispered hoarsely.  
"Do you want to take this further?" Vimes asked. Sybil nodded kissing him and pulling down his briefs for him, he groaned slightly as his erection was freed. Sybil ran her hands down his chest and along his shaft. Vimes growled under his breath and guided by Sybil, thrust forward. Sybil took a sharp breath and bit her lip closing her eyes tightly.  
"You alright?" Vimes asked holding her cheek tenderly.  
"Yes. Don't stop Sam," Sybil begged, weaving her fingers through his hair and pressing her forehead to his. Vimes set a smooth slow pace and felt a thrill as Sybil started to instinctively move with him. The tension started to build, Sybil slipped a hand between them as their hips moved faster, and massaged her clit to complement Vimes's thrusts. Sybil's body beneath Vimes shook again she cried his name and clutched to his hair, as her second orgasm ran through her.  
"Fuck," Vimes grunted as he toppled over the edge too.  
"I thought policemen didn't say that," Sybil joked breathlessly. Vimes laughed burying his face into Sybil's neck.  
"Of course, we do, It's practically our theme song." Sam chuckled and kissed Sybil again. Heart still racing he rolled off Sybil and on shaking legs stood up.  
"Sam?" Sybil asked from the bed there was a hint of worry in her voice. Vimes smiled back at her as he pulled his cigar's out of his trouser pocket, She thought he was going leave. Wam, bam, thank you, mam. Vimes chuckled at the thought.  
"Just getting a smoke." he panted, cigar retrieved he climbed back into bed, lighting one and using an empty teacup from the bedside table as an ashtray. Sybil cuddled up to him resting her head on his chest as he blew O's towards the ceiling.  
"Sam," Sybil said she wanted to ask if what had just happened was alright but she faltered for words. Vimes answered by kissing her tenderly on the top of the head and rubbing her shoulder. "I should get you a proper cigar case," Sybil sighed looking at the tattered paper box.  
"You don't need to do that," Vimes sighed, the cigar calming him down nicely.  
"I do," Sybil mumbled she drifted to sleep, still clutching tightly to Sam. Vimes smiled to himself and finished his cigar.

The next day Vimes had woken up late, Sybil had already gotten up and was out at the sunshine sanctuary. A hearty breakfast was awaiting him downstairs. He almost skipped to the station full and in a good mood. Later that night Vimes returned home in a foul mood. It was the wee hours of the morning, He was tired, hot and probably smelt like the Ank. He stomped up the stairs and into his bedroom. His Pyjamas were not folded on the bed. He checked the draws and wardrooms, they where all empty. Curiously he wondered into Sybil's dressing room. All his clothes, most of them brought by Sybil, had been moved to one wall Sybil's dresses on the other. Detective senses heightened he tiptoed into Sybil's room. There was no light, but with his night vision was tuned to the dark, Vimes could see Sybil snoring gently and on the blanket box at the end of the bed, were Vimes Pyjamas, folded neatly waiting for him. 


End file.
